Kelly Brook Farm
by Rose Malmaison
Summary: Gibbs, forced into retirement, quietly runs the Kelly Brook Farm horse rescue, until one stormy night Congressman DiNozzo, who just escaped from a kidnapper, knocks on his door, asking for help. (This is a pre-slash AU in which Tony never met Gibbs back in Baltimore. It's so pre-slash, it's pretty much gen.) COMPLETE - SEQUEL TO COME
1. Chapter 1

For: NCIS-Ficathon, round 8  
Written for: ncisvu_lj  
Prompt used: Gibbs is Tony's bodyguard (in any capacity: privately hired bodyguard, cop protecting a witness, Tony shows up on Gibbs' ranch and Gibbs ends up protecting him, Tony's the president and Gibbs is his bodyguard…whatever you dream up)  
Genre: Pre-slash, AU  
Notes about the AU: Tony and Gibbs have never met. Takes place Season 11, in the spring of 2014.

Category: hurt/comfort  
Rating: T  
Spoilers: none  
Warnings: none  
Length: 20,000 words, 6 chapters (finished version over at AO3)

Beta: firesign10, without whose help this would be a mess. I cannot thank her enough for her insightful comments and above-and-beyond beta work.

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

KELLY BROOK FARM

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

 **CHAPTER 1**

The meteorologist had predicted that a string of dangerous thunderstorms would hit Prince George's County, Maryland, around five that evening. He was right on the mark. By mid-afternoon the April skies had grown dark, and a deluge of rain, accompanied by high winds, let loose at dinnertime, battering the old farmhouse and barn on Brook Farm Road.

"Damn it!" Gibbs swore, as he ran from the barn to the back porch and straight into the mudroom. Once inside, he had to fight to close the back door against the wind and driving rain. The windows rattled in the wind and the roof creaked as Gibbs hung his dripping slicker on a peg, but he wasn't overly concerned. The house, which had been buffeted by far worse storms over its long lifetime was – as Abby had pointed out when she'd first seen it – stoic.

After toeing off his mucky barn boots, Gibbs put them aside in a boot tray for a later cleanup, and headed into the kitchen for a long-overdue cup of coffee. He could relax a bit now that the horses were safely bedded down for the night – all six of them, including the newest addition, a small bay named Chevron due to the white V on his forehead. The 13-year-old horse had arrived a week ago, malnourished and skittish, and while he was in need of a gentle hand, he was already showing signs of improvement.

Gibbs had bought the property at a foreclosure auction nine months ago, but not on a whim. He'd thought about taking this step for some time, and when the house and land had come on the market, he had driven over with Abby to check it out. The old place hadn't been a working farm for years, and it had been badly neglected. Gibbs had immediately felt at home when he entered the rambling brick-fronted house with its columned front porch, but the thing that sold him was the spacious barn with its wide-plank floors and hand-hewn oak beams. It came with a garage, carriage house, and a machinery shed with an old cider press bolted to the 150-year-old floor.

Abby had been excited from the moment she'd first seen the old house, and she'd started throwing out ideas. "Gibbs, Gibbs! Just think of all the possibilities with this huge house! With six bedrooms, you can turn the house into a B&B! Set up riding trails, and have a special camp week for kids where they can learn all about taking care of horses and–"

"Hang on there, Abby!" Was she completely out of her mind?

"But it would be fun! We'd all help out, me and Tim and Jimmy and Breena and Dwayne and–."

"Whoa, Abs!"

Ah, what was it to have rose-colored glasses, seeing the best in everyone and everything? Gibbs wouldn't know. He couldn't entirely blame the job for making him a cynic, nor his several failed marriages. As his dad had told him more than once, he'd been born grouchy. "You nearly bit off your mother's finger when she woke you from a nap once," Jackson had said. Gibbs' nature was to be suspicious and wary, but he usually had good reason. He assessed strangers, weighed them up and decided if they were dangerous or victims, and he acted accordingly: lock them up or help them out. He had no interest in anyone that fell in between.

A year ago, as he was approaching the mandatory retirement age for field agents, Gibbs had started to think about what he'd do if they tried to put him out to pasture. SecNav had already hinted that he would be willing to give Gibbs some leeway, so long as his closure rate remained high. At the time, Gibbs was healthy, the members of his team were in good shape and worked well together, so he'd expected that, with any luck, he'd be able to remain the agent in charge of Major Crimes for a few more years.

Unfortunately, Gibbs' luck had run out far sooner than anyone expected.

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

An investigation into a counterfeiting ring had led them to a warehouse, and they'd surprised a dozen men moving heavy weapons, stolen from the Navy, onto a truck. The shootout that followed was long and furious. Brent Langer, who had been Gibbs' Senior Field Agent for the past ten years, was the first to go down. He took two bullets to the chest as soon as they went in the door, the .44 hollow points plowing right through his body armor. He never had a chance. Gibbs, while laying down fire and going to Langer's aid, was hit high in his left arm, but he still managed to take out two of the shooters. By some miracle, Ziva, McGee, and Dorneget came out of the firefight with minor injuries, and by the time the shooting had ended, the weapons dealers were either rounded up or dead.

The impact of the bullet shattered Gibbs' arm. It took two operations to get the fracture set properly, with screws and pins holding the bones together. He endured infection and nerve damage, and there were a couple of times when Gibbs was afraid he'd lose his arm. For once in his life, he followed the doctors' orders. Recovery was painful, and the arm didn't heal as well as everyone hoped.

Langer's death hit Gibbs hard. Witnessing his friend and colleague of many years bleed to death on that warehouse floor sapped the spirit right out of Gibbs. He'd seen a lot of bad shit during his career – in the Marines and as an NCIS special agent – but it was heart-wrenching to witness the fear in Langer's eyes as he choked on his own blood. He clung desperately to Gibbs, looking at Gibbs as if he could somehow save him, but within minutes Langer's eyes glazed over, and he lost the final battle.

"No more field work," Vance had said, actually looking unhappy. Gibbs knew it was coming, but even so, hearing the director say it aloud was difficult to listen to, much less accept. The choice was laid out before him: desk or retire.

There really was no choice; in the end, Gibbs walked away.

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

The day Gibbs signed the papers and took possession of the farm, he'd said wryly to Ducky, "I've bought the farm. Literally."

"And yet here you are, still alive to talk about it." Ducky had chuckled in amusement.

Gibbs' left arm still bothered him a year after the shootout. It got stiff if he overdid heavy work like shoveling, and acted up when it got damp, but he knew he was fortunate to have survived for so long in such a dangerous job.

Retirement – God, how he hated that word – had done nothing to ease his hardened heart, but he had found a kind of peace in this rural patch of land. Here, Gibbs felt close to his girls, and he even saw them smiling at the small successes he had with the horses. This was all he needed, he told himself, and if he lived out the rest of his days working with, and easing the pain, of these sensitive, beautiful animals who needed his hands-on care, then that was about as close to happiness as he ever hoped to achieve.

It not only took a lot of guts for him to commit to bringing new life to the farm, but to start a horse rescue. Gibbs had no doubt that he had made the right choice. Now he was fulfilling his late wife and daughter's dream by running a safe haven where injured and abused horses could rest up before moving on to their forever home. He was the middleman in a large network of people who spent enormous amounts of time, effort and money on rescuing and rehabilitating animals suffering from neglect and abuse. Abby called him a foster dad, but actually Gibbs' farm was a small shelter where the horses he took in were cared for while they were assessed for the next stage in their journey.

It had been a huge step for him, putting his family home in Alexandria up for sale, but he'd known in his heart that if he'd remained there, he'd have nothing but regrets. With equally mixed feelings of trepidation and anticipation, Gibbs had accepted a surprisingly good offer on the house he'd once made a home with Shannon and Kelly, and he'd then turned around and placed a down payment on the farm.

The first night he spent there, lying in bed listening to the tree frogs peeping in chorus, Gibbs thought about his wife and daughter and how they would have loved this place. Just as he drifted off to sleep, Gibbs decided that he was going to name his new home Kelly Brook Farm.

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

Gibbs blamed the whole thing on Moira VanGarten. She was a redhead, or had been before her hair had turned white; there was still a hint of auburn when she stood in the sunlight. At sixty-four, having outlived three husbands and countless lovers, Moira was still a powerhouse. She was a mover and shaker in local politics, a leader in ecological improvements and the expansion of small specialty farms. She was also a tireless advocate for abused animals, and was an avid horsewoman who rode every day.

He'd met her at physical therapy, where Moira was recovering from cracked ribs and a broken arm as a result of an encounter with a frightened horse. "Got squashed against the fence like a bug," she'd told Gibbs with a twinkle in her pale blue eyes. "You'd think I'd have learned, after all these years…"

It was Moira who had planted the seed of the horse rescue idea in Gibbs' mind, and then nurtured it and offered supportive stakes to encourage its growth. It was she who had made Gibbs see the possibilities of working with horses, had encouraged him, starting him off on the road leading to the next phase of his life. As a result, he'd spent a few weeks at her large horse farm, learning the ropes from the expert, had talked to people in animal control and leaders of humane societies, had interned at the Equine Welfare's large teaching facility. Gibbs had ridden before, had even worked on a ranch out in Montana one summer as a teen, but understanding horses, instinctively knowing their wants and needs – that wasn't something that could be easily learned.

"You're good with them, Jethro," Ducky had said, when he'd accompanied Gibbs to Moira's expansive horse farm, and had seen him working with a shy horse out in a paddock.

"And they don't talk back," Gibbs had replied with a smile. The truth as, he felt closer to his girls when he was working with the horses; he could hear Kelly softly laughing, and see Shannon's eyes alight as she smiled with approval.

Moira had convinced him that he had quite a talent with the horses, probably from after all those years of reading humans. "You have a good sense of people, an instinct, Jethro Gibbs," she'd said. "I can see you can speak to these animals. You're too uptight though. Just relax and let what they're telling you come to you."

So Gibbs had taken a leap of faith. He had believed Moira for reasons he'd never understand, and he'd agreed to take in some horses, so long as he could start small. Moira would send over six horses maximum, and she would visit at regular intervals to make sure he wasn't messing up. The rescue was a business, not a do-good hobby, and there was a huge amount of paperwork to wade through before the first four-hoofed creature arrived at Kelly Brook Farm. Licenses, inspections, setting up the finances, filing with local and government agencies, learning how the network of rescue organizations worked, these aspects all had to be dealt with. It was difficult, and there were several times that Gibbs had stopped and asked himself if he'd gotten in way over his head. But in the end, when all the pieces fell into place, and the first horse arrived and had gingerly accepted a carrot from his hand, he knew he'd be okay – that he'd done the right thing.

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

Now the dream was a reality, and the reality was that the 70-acre property came with a boatload of hard work and responsibility.

For starters, the house had been falling down, and it still needed a huge amount of work. Gibbs felt fortunate that he'd been able to re-shingle the roof with the help of a small army of volunteers rounded up by an enthusiastic Abby.

Getting the ten-stall barn patched up had been the next order of business. Luckily, the roof was holding its own and only required minor repairs. The flooring needed some nails to bring it up to par, though it would be forever uneven due to age. Gibbs liked it that way. The big barn doors had to be re-hung, which took four men and a set of pulleys. The three-car garage, once a shelter for small farm animals, didn't need anything done to it, and the best thing was there was a large workshop space at the back, complete with workbenches and quite a few old tools, most of which were so rusty they were tossed out.

Only a couple of weeks into the renovations, Gibbs admitted that he'd have to delegate some of the jobs. He started by hiring a couple of local men to mend the fences. The first priority was to get the ones closest to the house and barn secure. The fence extended from the gate at the end of the driveway to the barn, and then it swept in a large circle and back to the far side of the house. If a horse got loose by chance, it couldn't get very far. The fencing that made up the paddocks behind the barn were in pretty good shape, but every post and bar was checked to make sure everything was secure. Gibbs had heard horror stories about horses getting loose, crashing through fences, and ending up galloping southbound on the nearby highway.

There were several outbuildings on Kelly Brook Farm, including some sheds not worth saving. He planned to pull them down – one more project to add to the growing list of 'things do later on.' There was, however, a small yet sturdy carriage house hidden behind a stand of trees, on the other side of the barn, and Gibbs had ideas about getting it in shape so he could rent it out. It hadn't been used for carriages for a hundred years and a previous owner had cleaned it out and put up some drywall. There was already running water, a simple sink and toilet, so it had potential.

Another thing Gibbs did right away, on the advice of the Hutters, his neighbors to the east, was to lease out two twenty-acre parcels to farmers. That income alone would help put a dent in the property taxes. The extra money from renting the carriage house cottage would come in handy too, as his savings and retirement accounts covered the maintenance of the property and his personal expenses, but he would be relying upon donations to help with the horses.

Gibbs had a feeling it would be a long time before he got to do anything about the bedrooms upstairs, but it didn't really matter. He'd been living in three rooms on the ground floor, and they more than met his needs. The bedroom had only needed a paint job, and the previous owners had updated the bathroom a few years ago; that was one less project to think about.

The rest of the ground floor rooms were also going to have to wait. There were several once-elegant rooms that he had no use for; a game room, a tile-floored conservatory, a summer kitchen, storage areas, a washroom with brass fixtures that dated from 1900, several parlors and rooms that had no apparent purpose. Some of the rooms were sparsely furnished, like a sitting room in the back of the house that had an upright piano and a couch inhabited by a large family of mice. They all needed some kind of work.

There was a large foyer with a beautifully tiled floor, whose massive teak front door appeared to be from the Civil War-era, but the front porch, with its tall white columns, was in such disrepair that Gibbs had immediately roped it off. The supports could do with some shoring up, but the floor outside the front door had extensive rot, and was going to be a big job. It would have to wait, like so many of the other repairs. Meanwhile, everyone used the door off the kitchen and mudroom. That was fine with him, as he didn't need any more space than the country-style living room, kitchen and ground floor bedroom provided.

As Gibbs moved around the kitchen, starting a fresh pot of coffee and heating some soup in a saucepan, he looked at his home with satisfaction. The kitchen was in pretty good condition, and came with a large gas stove, whitewashed cabinets, and wide pine-plank floor. He'd refinished the wood floor in the living room himself. Gibbs had brought along his furniture from his previous home in Alexandria, but had given in and bought a new, comfortable couch, upholstered in a dark green plaid fabric, when his old one had sprung one too many springs. The floor-to-ceiling bookcases took up most of one wall, and his small TV fit neatly into the corner. Plus there was a huge brick fireplace that was made for cooking cowboy-style steaks. What more did a man need?

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks, everyone, for all the nice comments. I wrote this story as soon as I finished posting my last one, so that's about 4 weeks. I need a bit of a breather, but I'm blocking out a sequel to this story. As a couple of people have asked, you can read my fics at AO3 as well as here. Go to archiveofourown dot org and my name there is rose_malmaison.

 **CHAPTER 2**

As soon as his soup was hot, Gibbs poured it into a bowl and brought it into the living room, along with a sandwich of thick-cut bread folded over slices of honey-baked ham. He put his dinner on the low table in front of the couch, flipped on the TV, and sat down, hoping to catch the basketball game. It looked like it was already in the third period, and his team was losing. The storm rattled the windows and occasionally the lights flickered, but they stayed on.

During a commercial break, Gibbs took his empty dishes into the kitchen and placed them in the sink. He took a fresh cup of black coffee back with him when he returned to the living room. Good thing coffee never kept him from sleeping soundly, he thought. A news update was on so he watched it with disinterest, not bothering to turn the volume up. Here at the farm, it felt as if he was cut off from the world, even though it was only a forty-minute drive to DC, but he liked it that way. He never had casual visitors; neighbors kept their distance, and apart from some horse-related folks, the only people Gibbs invited in were Abby, Ducky, and Palmer. He was too busy to be lonely, he told them – and himself – though sometimes in the middle of the night, he felt perhaps something was missing from his life.

Sitting back, relaxing and waiting for the game to resume, something on the screen caught Gibbs' eye. It took a few seconds without his glasses on to figure out which button was the volume.

A TV news reporter, Hank Conklin, who Gibbs recognized from his NCIS days, was standing in front of an upscale home on the outskirts of Baltimore, with a crowd in the background being kept at bay behind police barricades. "…been five days now, and still no substantial leads towards the kidnapping of the congressman. According to our sources, proof of life in the form of photographs has been provided every day except for today, and the family and friends of Congressman Anthony DiNozzo have grown quite concerned. FBI Special Agent Fornell, lead investigator, has refused to comment about any demands from the kidnappers, or whether or not the congressman is still alive. Congressman DiNozzo, representative of the 3rd district, has been a major force behind beefing up security at the Baltimore waterfront and promoting international commerce over his past three terms. Lately, he has been in the limelight for something else altogether. The Congressman has been vocal about his stance on gay rights, and is slated to speak about this issue on _The People's Word_ this Friday night. Next week, he is scheduled to present the results of a study on the impact of current laws on the LGBT community at a Congressional task force meeting. At this time it is uncertain if…"

A picture appeared on the screen of a clean-cut, handsome man, about forty, impeccably dressed and smiling as if he hadn't a care in the world. _Congressman Anthony DiNozzo Jr._ , the caption on the screen said, but Gibbs didn't need to see the caption. He recognized the congressman from the news. There'd been a debate on anti-terrorism on TV last year around election time, and he remembered DiNozzo for his right-to-the-point presentation on the importance of keeping the home front secure. DiNozzo had remained calm under fire, and had even scored some strong points, which had impressed Gibbs. At the time, he had wondered if the congressman would have risen so fast in politics if he hadn't been graced with good looks and what appeared to be genuine charm.

A moment later, Conklin had his microphone in the face of a well-dressed man in his mid-sixties, oozing charm and a little too much sincerity as he replied to an onslaught of questions. Gibbs pegged the guy as a slick politician, the kind of man he had avoided at all costs throughout his career. The opposite of Congressman DiNozzo, he thought.

Gibbs was startled to learn that the older man was the father of the missing congressman, none other than retired Senator Anthony DiNozzo, Sr. "Let me assure you, Hank, that although I applaud my son for standing up for the rights of these gays, he'd be better off focusing his political energy on the Sub-committee on Anti-Terrorism he's assigned to…"

Gibbs phone rang and he muted the volume while muttering, "Asshole." He picked up the phone – a landline because he didn't carry a cell phone any longer – and barked, "Yeah, Gibbs."

"Gibbs! Gibbs! Gibbs!"

"Yeah, I know who I am, Abby. You don't have to keep on telling me," he joked.

"But I miss you! I miss saying your name."

Gibbs missed her, too, but he didn't say so. "You're coming over this weekend? Chevron needs some of your special care."

"Of course I'm coming, and I'm bringing Palmer. He says he'd be happy to look the horses over again."

"I told you, I already have a vet," Gibbs reminded her, although he wasn't about to turn down any free medical advice for the horses. Jimmy Palmer had worked for a large-animal veterinarian before he'd changed careers to pathology and moved to NCIS. He loved working with horses, and every few weeks he'd tag along to the farm with Abby. Gibbs grumbled, but he really didn't mind Palmer's company.

"But Jimmy's free, and he's so good with the horses…"

"All right, he can come. You don't happen to have a good mechanic to bring along, do you?"

"The truck acting up again?"

"Yeah. I can fix it. Just have to find the time. A guy from the service station's delivering a part in the morning." Gibbs needed to repair his only means of transportation as soon as he'd finished the morning chores and taken care of the horses. He was due to pick up a load of bales of wood shavings that he used for bedding material on top of the stall mats. He was almost out, although he could use hay as a backup.

Abby was asking about the horses, how they were doing, so Gibbs gave her a brief rundown on what he called 'the visitors.' He glanced at the TV as they wrapped up the news report. A minute later, the game was back on and he watched it with half an eye. His team was still trailing.

Abby filled him in on the latest news; now that Ziva had gone back to Israel, McGee had chosen Ellie Bishop to join the team; the 'Holy Rollers' bowling team was in the league finals, even without Sister Margaret Claire; Dornie was working with McGee on a cyber-case; and Palmer and Breena were expecting another child, "only Jimmy will tell you all about it tomorrow." Finally she said good night, and that she'd be there with Jimmy around 0900.

Gibbs turned off the TV and sat looking at the fire for a while, thinking about the horses and their needs. His mind kept drifting to the missing congressman when he should have been calculating feed costs. The congressman had been in the hands of the kidnappers for too long, according to Gibbs' experience. The poor guy was probably a goner. Fornell – Gibbs hadn't seen him since they'd had drinks at that Navy bar on the waterfront…God, that was months ago. He'd have to give him a call sometime.

Congressman DiNozzo… he might be a damn good-looking man, but he had to be stupid to get snatched like that, right off the street. Probably a pompous asshole like his father, the senator. No, that wasn't fair, Gibbs immediately told himself, although he wondered how DiNozzo Jr. had managed to remain a good guy while swimming with the political sharks.

He shook his head, forcing himself to stop thinking about the way DiNozzo Jr.'s eyes had been alight during that debate he'd seen. The man had known his stuff, and had – with politeness and humor – run rings around the other debaters. There was something about him, some spark of life that caught Gibbs' interest, and made him want to meet him in person.

Gibbs imagined what it would have been like if he'd met up with DiNozzo ten years ago. He would have checked out the guy's background, and probably would've enticed him to join his team at NCIS. But that was a lifetime ago, and these days, Gibbs had no time for dreaming. After a big gulp of now-cold coffee, he made a mental list of the chores that had to get done tomorrow, as well as the business he needed to conduct to ensure a healthy cash flow. There was a fund-raising dinner he'd promised to attend, and he wasn't about to let Moira down, not after everything she'd done for him.

Partway through the list, Gibbs' mind started to wander again to the news about the kidnapping. He couldn't help thinking about all the behind-the-scenes efforts that were being made to ensure the congressman's safe return. With Fornell on lead, Gibbs had no doubt they'd do their best for a good outcome, providing the kidnappers weren't total idiots with over-the-top demands of an ungodly amount of cash and a jet to an island without an extradition policy. It made him yearn to be working in law enforcement again, to dive deep into the fray, enjoy the unparalleled feeling of success when he broke a suspect during interrogation.

Gibbs sighed and rose to his feet to bank the fire that was still crackling in the hearth, planning to make an early night of it. As he was poking at the logs, he thought he heard something outside. He straightened up, listening. He was about to forget about it when he heard it again: a distinct knocking on his back door. It was unusual to have a visitor at this time of night, much less in a bad rainstorm. Gibbs wasn't unnerved enough to retrieve his handgun from its lockbox in the bookcase, but he was on guard when opening the door. The solar porch light was always alight, so he was able to immediately get a pretty good look at the man standing there. The guy had one hand raised, about to knock again, but when he saw Gibbs he lowered his hand and stepped back.

The man, who was about Gibbs' height and a good decade younger, was breathing hard, as if he'd run quite a distance. He wasn't wearing a coat, just running pants and a sweatshirt that was torn at the shoulder. He had to be soaked to the skin, the way the rain was coming down. It was hitting the roof hard, and the downspouts were gushing water across the lawn. It was cold out, in the fifties, and the man in front of Gibbs was hugging himself and shivering. His dark hair was plastered to his head, and his lips were tinged with blue. His eyes seemed big in his too-pale face – what Gibbs could see of it behind a week-old, scruffy beard.

Gibbs raised his voice over the noise of the heavy rain. "Yeah?" He was afraid he didn't sound too welcoming.

The man on the porch didn't retreat though. Instead, he stepped closer to Gibbs, and appealed, "I…I need your h-help."

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

Gibbs looked past the shoulder of the man dripping all over his back porch. It was so dark and rainy, he could barely make out the gate at the end of the driveway, but it looked like it was shut. What's more, there was no vehicle in sight. Gibbs always kept the gate firmly closed because of the horses, and if anyone wanted to drive in, they had to get out of their car to unlatch it, drive in, and re-close it. The mechanism was tricky, and people often mistakenly thought it was locked. There was just enough room to one side of the gate for a person to walk through, but why would anyone be on foot in this kind of weather?

Gibbs started to ask the man where he'd come from, and what had happened to him, but the sky lit up with a bolt of lightning. It was followed by a sharp crack of thunder, too close for comfort, making the man on his doorstep jump. He was shivering pretty badly and it was clear he presented no threat, so Gibbs opened the door wide and ordered brusquely, "Get inside."

The look of intense relief on the man's face confirmed what Gibbs believed – that something pretty bad must have gone down. As soon as the guy was settled, Gibbs would give him the third degree.

The minute his wet visitor stumbled into the mudroom, he started shaking. Gibbs could see it was from more than the cold – reaction to whatever he'd been through, most likely. He took hold of the stranger's upper arm and guided him through the mudroom towards the kitchen, but the man halted, with a mumbled, "Wait," to remove his boots. They were loosely tied and slipped off easily, as if they were a size or so too big.

"In here. I have a fire going," Gibbs said, steering the man to the couch. He grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around the man's shoulders, and at the same time, taking a good look at him. Even with the stubble covering the lower part of the man's face, a couple of bruises were visible on his jaw. There was another one on his cheek, close to his eye, which was turning purple. His forehead had a large scrape on it and there appeared to be dried blood in his left ear; to Gibbs, they were all signs of an altercation rather than a car crash.

The man's eyes darted around like he was assessing the place, checking out the exits. Despite his guest's nervousness, Gibbs didn't believe the man to be dangerous. More likely he was in trouble, he thought, the victim of a crime perhaps. Something bad had gone down – of that much was certain. Gibbs' sense of curiosity, and his need to get to the bottom of it, kicked in, even though his inner voice was sternly telling him, not to get involved.

His first concern was to get his visitor warm; the soaked man was still shivering and far too pale, and now he was staring at the window, where the sky lit up every couple of minutes. Thunder was still rumbling in the distance. Gibbs followed the man's gaze and said, "Let's hope that's the last of it. I'll get you a hot drink…and find you some dry clothes."

The man looked at Gibbs with a worried expression, and started to refuse the very help he'd asked for, but then he nodded, accepting what Gibbs was offering.

He's not used to being taken care of, Gibbs thought, as he put on a fresh pot of coffee and heating up the chicken noodle soup left over from his dinner. "You can use the phone. There, on the coffee table," Gibbs called out, leaning back a bit so he could peer into the living room. He had a clear view of the man, sitting hunched over on the couch, clutching at the blanket around his shoulders.

There was a moment of silence and then the man said, his voice soft, "Yeah, I g-guess…"

Gibbs poked his head into the living room, wondering why he was reluctant. "You want me to call someone? Family?" The man didn't respond so Gibbs asked, a little impatiently, "How about the police?"

Ah, that struck a chord. The man's head came up. There was fear in his eyes, no doubt about that, and Gibbs could tell the guy's brain was going a mile a minute.

Tentatively, the man huddled on his couch asked, "Y-you have anything hot to drink?"

Answering a question with a question was a standard avoidance tactic, but the man was soaked and cold, so maybe asking for some hot soup meant exactly that – he wanted something to warm his insides. Fair enough. "Yeah, got some soup already on the stove."

When Gibbs brought the man the steaming soup, he grabbed the mug with shaking hands and drank its contents as if he hadn't eaten for a week. He almost choked on the noodles swimming at the bottom of the mug, so Gibbs went and got him a spoon.

Gibbs stood over his mysterious guest and watched him eat. Without thinking, he adjusted the wool blanket that was slipping off the drenched man's shoulders, and Gibbs didn't miss the way the guy flinched at the brief contact. Trying to put his mystery guest at ease, Gibbs stopped hovering and sat on an upholstered chair nearby. He remembered they hadn't introduced themselves. "My name's Jethro, by the way."

The man put the empty mug on the coffee table with shaking hands, and offered a small smile in return. "Tony," he said. "Good soup." He looked at the phone lying on the table, but he didn't make any move to use it. His teeth were no longer chattering, and although considerable heat emanated from the fire, his clothing appeared to still be quite damp.

"You'd better get out of those wet clothes. You could do with a hot shower, to warm up your core," Gibbs said. He realized a moment later that he'd been unconsciously speaking in the calm, patient tone he used when dealing with victims of crimes. That he _used_ to use, he corrected himself, when it had been part of his job to deal with such people. When Tony (no last name given) didn't make a move, Gibbs stood up. It was clear he had to give his visitor direction, or else they'd be sitting here all night. He spoke in a voice he hadn't used since he'd ordered his team to follow his lead. "C'mon, on your feet. You're with me, Tony."

For a moment there, it was a toss-up whether or not Tony would follow him, but Gibbs led the way to the bathroom. He made sure there were fresh towels and then turned on the shower, letting the water warm up. When he looked over his shoulder, he found Tony standing just inside the doorway, looking exhausted and unsure. He'd left the blanket behind, and Gibbs could see his clothes were still thoroughly wet.

The bathroom was pretty big, as it had once been a sitting room. A previous owner had converted it to a bathroom back in the '80s, and although the pale green and white tiles were dated, it was functional, with a big bath, plenty of counter space and a separate shower, along with a toilet. To Gibbs, it was downright luxurious.

Unsure about what he should do next, Gibbs asked, "You want me to help you?"

For a minute Tony looked at him blankly, but then he shuffled further into the bathroom, saying vaguely, "I'm leaving puddles on your floor."

He was, indeed. Gibbs replied, "Not a problem." Once again, Tony stood there, looking somewhat lost, so Gibbs took the initiative and said, "Let's get those wet clothes off you."

There was a sudden gust of wind, and the window lit up from a flash of lightning. The crash of thunder that followed on its heels startled both of the men. So much for the storm heading out of the county. It seemed to be intensifying, and just as Gibbs was thinking that maybe he should fetch a flashlight just in case, the lights flickered. He held his breath but the power remained on. "Better get a move on," he told Tony.

Tony made a feeble attempt to drag the wet sweatshirt over his head, but he was having trouble with the water-soaked material. Gibbs slowly reached out and helped him, and then together they removed Tony's t-shirt. Tony winced as he struggled to push his pants down. That was when Gibbs noticed several large bruises on Tony's back and ribs, and a raw, scraped patch on his shoulder, where a large splinter was embedded. There was no doubt in Gibbs' mind that someone had repeatedly struck the younger man, possibly with a length of wood as well as with fists. There was a big bruise in the center of his chest, others on his ribs, neck, face, some of them days old. Tony's knuckles were red, a sign he'd fought back. That damage was recent. Both of his wrists bore matching deep cuts, right across the wrist bone. If Gibbs were a betting man, he'd say those contusions had been caused by some kind of binding; not handcuffs…maybe from a type of cord.

The splinter, twice as thick as a toothpick, was lodged well under the skin at the rear of Tony's deltoid, but it was barely bleeding. The exposed skin of Tony's hip was bruised, too, and Gibbs wondered what else was going to be revealed once Tony was naked.

This was the point, Gibbs thought wryly, at which Ducky and Abby would have put their brilliant heads together and come up with the exact identity of the objects that had been used by Tony's attacker. And knowing them, they'd come up with the precise height and weight of the man as well. But Gibbs reminded himself that he was no longer part of NCIS, and he couldn't rely upon his colleagues to help him out. This wasn't an investigation either, just a curious set of circumstances regarding a cold and injured stranger who had knocked on his door, pleading for help.

Gibbs said, "You have a splinter here that needs to come out. I'll get out the first aid kit while you're showering."

Tony craned his neck to look at the wound. "I do? Oh…" He swayed like a young colt on wobbly legs. Gibbs held onto Tony's arm to steady him, ready in case he should he faint – which looked like a very real possibility at that moment.

"I'm okay," Tony said.

"Sit down," Gibbs ordered, gesturing for Tony to sit on the toilet seat. He pulled the younger man's damp socks off his feet, feeling how the frigid the skin was as he did so. As Tony didn't protest, Gibbs helped him remove his pants; Tony's wet underwear peeled off with the pants.

Tony huddled over, hugging himself, so Gibbs said matter-of-factly, "Best you get in the shower right away. You need help?"

"I can do it," Tony said, for the first time sounding sure of himself. He visibly gathered his strength and walked over to the shower, giving Gibbs a good view of his muscular ass and thighs.

Tony pulled the shower curtain over and moment later he emitted a moan as the hot water cascaded down his body. "Oh, this feels so good."

With a small smile, Gibbs retreated to the other side of the bathroom to give Tony some privacy but to be close at hand should Tony assistance. After a few minutes, it looked like his visitor wasn't going to keel over, so Gibbs called out, "I'm going to get you some clothes. You gonna be okay?"

Tony raised his voice over the noise of the water. "Yeah."

At least he now sounded a bit stronger, reassuring Gibbs. "Call me if you need help."

"Okay."

By the time Gibbs returned with a selection of his own clothing in his arms, Tony had finished showering and was seated on the toilet lid again. He was wrapped up in all three of the large towels that Gibbs had put out for him, and smelled of shampoo and pine-scented soap. Gibbs was glad to see that Tony's cheeks were slightly flushed from the heat of the shower. "Don't put the shirt on yet. Come in the kitchen and I'll fix up your shoulder."

Tony nodded and gave a small smile. He said, sounding stronger, "Thanks, Jethro…um…I hate to impose because you've been so nice, but…can I borrow a toothbrush? And…" He rubbed a hand over his jaw. "I'd love to shave."

Gibbs found a new toothbrush from his last dental visit, and he put a disposable razor and shaving supplies on the counter. After a glance at Tony's heavy beard, he left the whole bag of razors out. Tony would probably blunt a few blades when scraping off all that facial hair. Once again, Gibbs wondered what the hell the man had been doing out there on a stormy night like this, and how he'd been hurt – and by whom – but he decided to wait on any questions until Tony was dressed. "I'll be in the kitchen," Gibbs said. "Give me a shout if…"

Tony nodded. "If I need anything. I got it."

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

It took so long for Tony to appear that Gibbs had plenty of time to drink another cup of coffee, as well as make a couple of ham sandwiches, just in case Tony was still hungry.

He was putting the food on the table next to his large first-aid kit, when a voice from behind him said, "I'm done. Shaving this beard off was like shaving a grizzly bear…not that I've ever actually shaved a bear, but I shaved a friend's back once, and I can honestly say Steve could give any bear a run for his money and…"

Gibbs turned and faced Tony. The second he saw him, whatever he'd been about to say went right out the window. The rough, bearded, pale man had transformed into a smoothly shaved, less pale, tall and handsome man with big green eyes. He was wearing the borrowed sweatpants and socks, which reminded Gibbs that he had yet to find his visitor some shoes. The icing on the cake was the tentative smile forming on nicely shaped lips. Tony's hair looked different, lighter now that it was dry, and it was carefully combed off his face. His chest was bare and somewhat bruised, though nothing as bad as the array marking his back. Tony rubbed a hand over his chest and stomach, and for a moment Gibbs stared, fascinated by the way Tony's long fingers ruffled the thick chest hair as they passed by.

The biggest surprise at all – which, in retrospect, shouldn't have been such a surprise after watching the news earlier that evening – was that Gibbs now recognized the half-naked man standing in the middle of his kitchen.

Tony looked uneasy at Gibbs' blatant stare, but he didn't move an inch.

Gibbs blurted, "You're that kidnapped congressman. DiNozzo. Junior, not Senior."

Tony shook his head and smiled wryly. "Definitely not Senior. How do you know him?"

"I saw him on TV," Gibbs said, unable to take his eyes off his guest. He gave himself a mental headslap for gaping and pulled a chair out from the kitchen table. "Sit."

Tony did as he was told, and presented his right shoulder to Gibbs. For the next few minutes, neither man spoke as Gibbs carefully extracted the splinter and cleaned up the wound. He taped a heavy square of gauze over the oozing wound and then inspected Tony's wrists. They were raw, abraded from being tied, and the two matching cuts were quite deep, as he'd suspected. Gibbs used a liberal amount of antiseptic cream on the damaged wrists and wrapped them in gauze. Tony endured it all without flinching or making a sound.

"You should follow up with a doctor," suggested Gibbs.

Tony pulled a face. "Do I have to?"

"I don't know you well enough to _make_ you go," Gibbs said, thinking how Tony sounded a lot like Langer. Brent had always made light of his more serious injuries, and Gibbs had become used to him waving off the need for any medical intervention.

"Are you a medic?" Tony inquired, looking curiously at Gibbs.

"No." Tony didn't take his eyes off Gibbs' face, so Gibbs said, "I run a horse rescue." Funny, he'd never actually said that straight out to anyone before. Of course Moira had introduced him to people, and had told them what he was doing, but this was the first time he'd stated his new business to an individual. "I've got six visitors out in the barn."

"Visitors…?"

"The horses."

Tony nodded, continuing to size up Gibbs out of the corner of his eye. Gibbs could feel the heat creeping up his neck; he wondered what the younger man saw.

Tony frowned a little. "What were you before?"

Gibbs asked, "Before?" Tony continued to look at him, and Gibbs eventually gave in. "Marines. Then I became a federal agent."

"Ah, a cop. I thought so. There's no such thing as an ex-cop," Tony said wisely.

Gibbs didn't correct him, because he supposed one could say he'd been a Navy cop. "Your hands," he said, reaching out. Tony hesitated for a second before allowing Gibbs to take his hands in his own. They were bruised, and the right hand had suffered a couple of split knuckles. Gibbs could make out scars on the right hand knuckles, a sign of previous barehanded fights. "They're always slow to heal," he said. Tony just nodded.

Once Gibbs had finished dabbing antiseptic on Tony's hands and applied gauze and tape, Tony said, "Thank you," with quiet sincerity.

Gibbs accepted the thank you with a small nod. "I'll get you some shoes," he said. A minute later, he was back from the mudroom, where doubled as a coat closet, with a pair of boat shoes in hand. He watched as Tony pulled them on, satisfied that they were close enough to his own size so he wouldn't trip over them.

Tony tried to thank him again, but Gibbs quickly waved him off. "You'd do the same for me, Tony."

Tony scrutinized him for a moment before nodding. "I believe I would, Jethro."

It looked like Tony had relaxed enough that he might just open up, so Gibbs asked, "How'd you end up here, anyway?"

Tony licked his lips nervously before saying, "I saw your light, and I ran towards it. It was raining so hard and…I could barely see where I was going. I was so cold." He wrapped his arms around his bare chest and immediately Gibbs fetched the dry clothes he'd put aside. Tony carefully pulled on a t-shirt, then a wool sweater and, for good measure, a sweatshirt with a hood. It was zippered down the front, and the metal teeth cut the 'MARINES' emblazoned across the chest in half. Tony gave a nervous laugh. "I don't know why I'm still cold."

"It'll take a while to warm up again. How long were you out there, in the storm?"

Tony looked around the kitchen, as if the answer lay somewhere in the room. "I don't know. A while."

That was pretty vague. Gibbs wondered if Tony was actually having trouble recalling what had occurred, with the mental and physical trauma, or if just couldn't face talking about it. Gibbs continued asking simple questions. "Where d'you come from?"

It seemed as though Tony didn't want to talk about it, judging from the way he shrugged.

Gibbs tried again. "How many of them were there?" Tony stared at him as if surprised by the interrogation, but Gibbs wanted to know what had gone down. "Should I expect someone to come looking for you? Are they after you, Tony? You were kidnapped. You've been missing for days."

There was fear in Tony's expression. He mutely shook his head before dropping his eyes. "No," he whispered.

"Go in by the fire," Gibbs said, as kindly as he could. "You want hot oatmeal or is a sandwich okay?"

"Sandwich is fine," Tony said and went into the living room.

Gibbs carried in enough sandwiches and mugs of coffee for the both of them – without asking, he added cream and sugar to Tony's, as the man was probably suffering some level of shock – and set them on the low table in front of the couch. He sat near Tony, wanting to hear his story.

Tony drank the coffee, apparently liking the way Gibbs had fixed it. He picked up a sandwich, but after a couple of bites, he seemed to lose interest. "Sorry," he said. "I'm just really…tired."

"It's okay," Gibbs assured him. "Talk to me, Tony. You've clearly been through a lot…" He really should pick up the phone and call this in. People were still out there looking for DiNozzo. And yet, he felt compelled to hear Tony's story from his own mouth, in the privacy of Gibbs' home. Once the authorities got here, it would be chaos. Reporters would follow, with cameras and with no compunction about stepping over the line. The media attention, and the FBI with their relentless questions – it would all be too much for Tony, on top of everything he'd been through.

Tony sniffed and fiddled with the edge of the sweatshirt, looking like a kid who was being coerced into a confession. In a small voice, he mumbled, "Don't know where to start."

Gibbs said, "At the beginning." He took a risk and laid a hand over Tony's, squeezing it to let him know he was there for him. As soon as he'd retracted his hand, Gibbs wondered where that gesture had come from. It wasn't like him to reach out and touch someone, not even when he felt something for a victim. It wasn't pity though, more like empathy colored by a strong urge to make things right. "Just tell me, Tony."

Nodding, Tony gave in. "Okay." He took a shaky breath and swallowed. "I don't…even remember how it happened. I think I might have been coming back from a run." After a long silence, he said, as if it were painful to speak, "I woke up in the dark, thought I was blind until I realized there was something…a blindfold over my eyes. I felt like I was going to throw up. I didn't though. And my hands were tied. So were my feet. " Tony looked down at his bandaged wrists, holding them together as if they were still bound. "He used rope at first, with my hands tied behind my back. I t-told him I had t-trouble breathing, tied that way, when I was lying down. H-he changed to zip ties and let me have my hands in front of me. It was easier, for when I had to take a piss."

"You bargained, asked for small favors," said Gibbs, thinking of the _FBI Guide to Kidnapping_. "That's good."

"I was really out of it at first. H-he drugged my food and water, and I couldn't think. I slept a lot."

"How did you escape?"

Tony didn't reply. Instead, he frowned, trying to recollect something. "How long have I been gone? D'you know?"

"Five days. I saw it on the news."

Tony looked shocked. "Is that all? It felt like a lot longer." He was silent for a long time, and then said, "It took a while to figure that nobody was coming, and if I wanted to get out alive, I'd have to do something. Whatever he was dosing me with, it made me so groggy, I could barely sit up. Then I started hiding the food under the bed, and I poured out the water wherever h-he w-wouldn't see it…under my pillow. I felt better after a couple of days, sharper, so when h-he untied my feet and t-took me to the toilet…that was today…I told him I had to take a big dump. H-he left me alone. I remembered how I'd seen some college guys on YouTube, trying to break zip-tie handcuffs." Tony smirked a little. "I did what they did, lifted my hands high, banged them down on my chest." He gave a small laugh, looking pleased with himself as he rubbed his sternum. "It worked, even if it hurt like crazy. Believe me, I was surprised as hell when the zip-tie snapped." Tony held up his bandaged – but free – wrists and grinned crookedly. "See? Exhibit A. Proof that it works."

"You got away," Gibbs said approvingly. He wondered if Tony knew he stuttered whenever he referred to his kidnapper; he didn't think so.

Tony blinked a few times and he licked his lips. "I didn't just walk away…It wasn't that easy," he said resentfully.

"What happened?"

Tony wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I had to fight my way out. It was…well, let's just say that back in the day, I had a reputation for being scrappy but this…this was brutal. I think I…I sort of went off the deep end. H-he k-kept trying to get on top of me, and h-he got his hands around my neck and…and…" Tony stared into the distance with haunted eyes.

"People do extraordinary things when put in extraordinary situations, Tony," Gibbs said with sympathy and understanding.

Tony shook his head and said, "No."

"You did what you had to."

"You don't understand," said Tony, in a harsh whisper.

"Then tell me."

"You see…I grabbed him and banged his head against the floor, again and again, and…I think I k-killed him." Tony started to shake, badly enough that Gibbs thought he was going into shock, but then he saw the tears, and Tony's head came up, his eyes angry and defiant. "I killed him! I bashed his head in. And you know what? I'm glad I killed the fucker! I'm glad! And I'd do it again! Fuck _him_!"

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

Gibbs hadn't expected the vehement outburst, but he understood where it was coming from. Being under the control of someone who holds your life in his hands, who isolates and intimidates you – that puts a man in a state of fear and anxiety, and brings on a sense of hopelessness that he's probably never experienced before. He laid a calming hand on the top of Tony's shoulder. "It's all right, Tony. You did good."

"No, it's not all right! That f-fucking b-bastard kept me tied up for days and days, and chained me to the bed when he wasn't there, and when I pleaded with him to let me go, even offered him money, he just laughed at me! He'd leave me there for hours sometimes, and whenever h-he was gone, I pushed the blindfold up and looked around. I couldn't get loose, and even if I could have, I couldn't have walked because of the shit he'd drugged me with…"

"Take a deep breath, Tony. It's all over now," Gibbs said, trying to remain calm while suppressing the intense desire to bash in the kidnapper's brains himself. "You're sure he's dead? If we can figure out where you were being held, I could go and check it out."

Tony stared at him, and the look on his face, of disbelief and horror, convinced Gibbs that Tony's kidnapper and assailant, was indeed dead. Still, Gibbs needed to see the body for himself, although between the storm, his broken truck, and Tony's condition there was no way he could go looking for a body, even if he knew where to go. So far, Tony had been vague about the location where he'd been detained for the past five days.

"It was a trailer," Tony said, all of a sudden. "That's where I was, parked behind an old house that looked like it was about to fall down. See, I paid attention to details."

"That's good, Tony. There was only one man? You sure?"

Tony thought for a minute. "H-he was the only one there. I heard him on the phone…this morning…outside the trailer. I could tell h-he was…I think he was afraid of whoever he was talking to." Tony's tone grew harder. "Might have been his boss? He didn't like whatever the guy had to say." Tony shook his head and said vehemently, "This _never_ should have happened to me."

"Hey, all types of people get snatched, Tony. What matters is how you handle it, and the most important thing is that you survive," said Gibbs firmly. "You _survived_."

Tony shook his head, apparently not convinced. "You don't get it. I was a detective for six years on the force. I had the best solve rate on the east coast. I've made a career of threat assessment and anti-terrorism. The DOD even used me as a consultant, for God's sake. After I left Baltimore PD, I taught American executives in Italy how to avoid being kidnapped, how to survive, and how you should never antagonize your kidnapper."

"Let me guess. You didn't follow your own rules," Gibbs said, admiring the young man's resourcefulness, even if his actions may have been reckless.

Tony snorted. "Of course not. I wanted out of there, to go home, you know? I thought if I annoyed him enough, he'd be glad to see the back of me, and would arrange for whatever it was h-he w-wanted that much quicker. Like in _The Ransom of Red Chief_ , when these two small-time criminals kidnap a kid, but he's so much trouble they can't wait to unload him. I talked a lot, about what makes one chick hotter than another, and whether German expressionism should even be considered a film genre or not. I even listed all the Magnum episodes, all 162 of them, including _The Ugliest Dog in Hawaii._ Magnum protects a dog from being kidnapped by gangsters in that episode," he said earnestly.

"I'm guessing he didn't appreciate all this chatter," said Gibbs.

"No, 'fraid not. H-he just kicked the crap out of me a couple of times. Not much I could do when I was hogtied." Tony ran a hand through his hair. "But when I got free…H-he sure as hell didn't expect me to rush him when I came out of the bathroom. You should have seen the look on his face; surprised the shit outta him. I tried one of my best Ohio State tackles, but in that small space…it got ugly, real fast." Tony stared at his bruised knuckles for a while.

The only sound in the room was the occasional pop of a log settling in the fireplace, and the steady beat of rain against the house. Thunder rumbled again, not too close this time.

"You saw his face."

Tony nodded and looked like he was going to throw up.

Gibbs asked, "Did you recognize him?"

Tony shook his head and breathed, "No. Never seen him before."

Tony stared at the floor, silent, so Gibbs prompted, "You fought him."

Tony sighed tiredly. "Yeah. We crashed around and landed on a built-in cabinet, and it broke apart. He started hitting me with a piece of wood, a door or something," Tony said, his voice low. "I don't remember…exactly… The wood…I had it in my hands, and he was just lying there, his head…all bloody." Tony swallowed and held a shaking hand to his mouth. "I just about fell out the door and took off, but then I realized I didn't have any shoes. I had to go back in and…I t-took the b-boots off his feet. It was probably the hardest thing I've ever had to do. They were _warm_." Tony's expression reflected the horror of the situation. His eyes were swimming with unshed tears when he looked at Gibbs. "I ran and ran, like _Marathon Man_ , and when I saw your light, I thought, 'I'm not going to die today, after all.'"

"It's okay. You did a good job. You're safe now." Gibbs wanted to put a comforting arm around Tony's shoulders, but he was unsure if such a gesture would be welcome from a veritable stranger. "I think it's time to call Agent Fornell."

"Who?"

"He's the FBI agent in charge of your case."

"People were looking for me," Tony said, not quite making it a question.

Puzzled, Gibbs assured him, "Of course they were. Your dad made an appeal to the kidnappers on TV." Instead of looking pleased or relieved, Tony's expression suddenly became neutral, and Gibbs, who could easily read most people as a rule, had no clue what was going on in Tony's mind. In an attempt to break through the barrier that Tony had so efficiently erected, Gibbs reminded him, "You've got family, your dad, friends. People you work with…"

Tony's gaze dropped and he slowly nodded his head. "Yeah…I have some really good people on my team, in Baltimore and DC."

"You don't think they've been worried sick about your disappearance?" Gibbs pressed.

"I didn't think…It's just…I felt so isolated. It's hard to shake, even though I'm here, and safe, you know?"

"You are safe, Tony," Gibbs said confidently. "You're married, aren't you?" He recalled seeing a dark-haired wife at the congressman's side in a newspaper photo.

Tony seemed to deflate, his shoulders sagging. "Not exactly." He didn't meet Gibbs' eyes when he said with a hint of bitterness, "Wendy's pursuing her journalism career. She's probably written an exposé on my kidnapping, as we speak."

"Divorced?" Gibbs asked sympathetically.

"It's pending. She filed a few weeks ago. We'll be tied to each other for another eleven months." Tony sighed and ran his hands though his hair. "The thing is…we've got a kid." He looked up at Gibbs, a smile growing as he said, "Zach's ten. He's growing up so fast, it's amazing."

"He'll be happy to get his dad back." Gibbs liked the way Tony appeared when he smiled, relaxed and years younger, but the happiness didn't last long.

Looking worried, Tony asked, "You know this Agent Fornell?"

"Yeah, we worked together. He's a good man. He'll take care of you, Tony."

Tony nodded and after a pause, asked, "Do you know…was there a ransom?" When Gibbs didn't answer immediately, Tony remarked, "Well, I must have been taken for some good reason."

"I don't know what the kidnapper's demands were," Gibbs said apologetically. "You have no idea why?"

Tony shook his head. He looked exhausted. "I don't know. I don't _know_ …H-he ranted about how allowing gays to marry was ruining the American way of life, and he had some theory that Homeland Security was at the bottom of 9/11 – all sorts of batshit crazy stuff. It got to the point that I couldn't stand it any more so I started quoting conspiracy theories from that Mel Gibson movie, just to fuck with his mind. Like how 'all the fathers of Nobel Prize winners were rounded up and were forced at gunpoint to give semen samples,' and how they're now stored underneath the Rockefeller Center ice skating rink." He looked quizzically at Gibbs. "What? At the time it seemed like a good idea."

"Oh yeah?"

"Okay, so I got punched in the ear for that one. It was worth it though." Tony laughed humorlessly. "H-he left me chained to the bed and drove off somewhere. Didn't come back for so long I started to wonder if I was going to die there." Tony covered his face with his hands. "Can we not talk about this any more right now?"

"Sure. Remember, it's all over," Gibbs said, rubbing Tony's back. Only Gibbs knew that it was nowhere near being over. There'd be questions, lots of them, and they'd need to find the location where Tony had been held, as well as the body of the man who'd abducted him. But Tony couldn't handle any of that, not in the state he was in. Between the drugs, the mental stress, and the fight and escape he'd made, Tony was at the end of his tether. "I'll call Agent Fornell, have a word with him first," Gibbs said.

"I don't…want to talk about it to him…oh shit…I'm gonna be…" Tony rose suddenly and Gibbs rushed him over to the kitchen sink, where Tony promptly threw up. Gibbs supported the younger man until he was done, and then he cleaned his face with a wet towel, dried him off, and gave him a glass of water to rinse his mouth.

They slowly made it back to the couch. This time, Tony laid back, his arm hiding his face. "Will you do something for me?" he asked, not lowering his arm.

Gibbs gently pushed Tony's legs aside and sat on the edge of the couch. "Sure."

"Can you stay with me when they come, Jethro?"

"The FBI? Of course I will."

Tony swallowed and said, "He was going to kill me, you know."

Gibbs didn't doubt it, but he asked quietly, "How d'you know?"

With a sigh, Tony lowered his arm. "The last day…today…when he came back, I didn't have the blindfold all the way over my eyes. I heard him coming in and I couldn't get it down in time, so I shut my eyes tight. He just laughed, said it didn't matter, that it would all be over soon. I still didn't look straight at him. That's when I went to the bathroom. One the way, he…he pushed me against the table, threatened me, told me he was going to kill…everyone I ever loved, my family, the people who work for me, and my son. He said…he said I deserved to die because…And he…he…" Tony shut his eyes tightly, and his breathing grew ragged.

"Okay, okay. Just relax. He can't hurt anyone." Gibbs agreed with Tony's conclusion that if the kidnapper planned to kill Tony, he wouldn't care if he saw his face. There was more to the story, but Tony was so distressed, Gibbs couldn't question him any more. It wasn't his place to do so, not any more.

Lightning flashed again, thunder rolling across the sky, so close the windows rattled. There was another flash and a great crack that rattled the windows, too close for comfort. It sounded as though a nearby tree had been struck.

"Jethro?" Tony took a breath. "Will you call for me?"

Gibbs nodded. "I'll do whatever you need, Tony." Just when Gibbs picked up the phone, lightning struck again, this time the bright flash and incredibly loud crash hitting at the same time. The lights flickered and the power went out, plunging the rest of the house into darkness.

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

"Oh crap!" Tony exclaimed.

"It's okay. I'm going to get a flashlight," Gibbs said as he headed for the kitchen. There was enough illumination from the fire in the hearth to light his way to the drawer where he kept small emergency supplies. Tony grabbed his arm and Gibbs turned, surprised. "You scared of the dark?" Gibbs asked, trying to make light of Tony's fear.

"No, I'm scared of the scary things that live in the dark, and come out and get you when the lights go off in a big storm. Don't you know the basic rules in horror movies? Always look behind the door. Don't run upstairs; run out the front door, and don't look back. Don't ever let that stranger who claims his car has broken down into the house to use the phone. Present company excepted, of course."

"I've got my own set of rules to live by." Gibbs located a flashlight, and then pulled a gas camp light off a shelf.

"Rules?"

Gibbs found matches and lit the gas light, meanwhile feeling Tony watching him with interest. "Rule # 71: Be kind to strays. You'll find I'm not the kid of guy to leave a wet cat out on the porch in a storm like this." As if to punctuate his sentence, there was another flash of lightning and a crash, still too close for comfort.

"Wait a minute! Who're you calling a wet cat?"

"Better than a drowned rat."

"Not by much," Tony complained.

Gibbs smirked and indicated they should go back into the living room, but first, Tony asked for something to drink. Gibbs poured him a large glass of ginger ale with ice. "The bottle's been open a while. Not much fizz. Better for your stomach that way."

Once they were seated on the couch, Gibbs set the lamp on a side table, where it hissed and cast its cool light across the room. He picked up the phone but, as he'd expected, the line was dead.

Tony asked, "Storm knocked it out?"

"'Fraid so. It'll be a while before the power's restored, if I know Potomac Power. How about you lie back and close your eyes?"

Tony hesitated, and then asked in a small voice, "Are you…um…"

"I'm not going anywhere." Gibbs pulled another blanket from of a chest behind the couch, and as Tony slowly lay down, Gibbs covered him with it. He sat at the end of the couch and watched the fire for a while, resolving not to stare at Tony. When he could no longer avoid glancing Tony's way, he found that the younger man was fast asleep. Gibbs smiled, although he wasn't entirely sure why.

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

Gibbs woke up with a start. He had a distinct feeling that something was off. His first concern was for Tony, but he was sound asleep, curled on his side and snoring lightly. A glance at the clock ticking away on the mantel told Gibbs it was two a.m. He must have dozed off, and ended up sleeping for three solid hours.

These days, Gibbs usually fell into bed before nine, rising early to take care of the horses. He used to be a night owl, often awake for hours worrying about their present investigation. That was when he'd head down to his basement and work on his boat late into the night. But those long nights crafting a boat with his own hands that was both beautiful and functional, and getting into what Abby called the Zen of the wood, was part of the past. The only woodworking he did these days was upkeep and repairs around the property, and although that held its own rewards, he did miss his boat.

Rain was still beating on the roof, but the thunder seemed to have moved out of the area. The power and the phone were still out though. The fire needed attention, so Gibbs rose quietly so as not to disturb Tony, and poked the logs, encouraging the flames back to life.

Gibbs went to use the bathroom, taking the flashlight with him. Tony's wet clothes were still lying where they'd landed, so after Gibbs had relieved himself, he decided to bag the clothes in case they were needed for evidence. It wasn't likely that there'd be much trace evidence left on the rain-soaked clothing, but it was impossible to disregard the procedures he'd performed for so many years.

Once the garments were properly bagged and put aside for the FBI, Gibbs remembered the boots Tony had been wearing, the ones he'd said he'd taken off his abductor's feet. Gibbs was walking down the hall to fetch them when he thought he heard something. It was hard to tell what it had been, what with the wind and rain still battering the house, but the hairs on the back of Gibbs' neck went up when he heard it again. Someone was skulking around outside the house; he was sure of it.

Quickly returning to the living room, Gibbs unlocked the gun safe that he kept on a high shelf in the bookcase. He pulled out his weapon, a Sig automatic in a worn leather clip-on holster. Director Vance had transferred the weapon to Gibbs' name as a retirement gift. At the time, Gibbs had thought he'd never use it again, except for the occasional practice at the gun range, but now, as he clipped it securely to his belt, he was glad he had it.

Gibbs glanced at Tony, but he was still sleeping deeply. No point in waking him, he thought. Making his way down the hall to the back door, Gibbs held the unlit flashlight in his left hand. With his right, he flicked off the gun's safety. Suddenly there was a knock on the door, and he could make out the vague shape of a person standing there. Good news did not knock on anyone's door at 2 a.m. Of course it might be a neighbor in trouble, but somehow Gibbs didn't believe that was the case.

Gibbs opened the door partway, and kept his hand on the butt of his weapon. It was still pouring and the solar-powered porch light shone like a beacon in the stormy night.

There was a large man standing on the back porch, rainwater dripping off his ball cap, but unlike Tony and his inadequate clothing, this man was wearing heavy rain gear. The peak of his cap cast deep shadows over his eyes, but Gibbs was able to make out a friendly smile.

"Hey, man, sorry to disturb you. One hell of a night, huh?"

"What do you want?" Gibbs didn't care that he sounded curt. After all, this was a stranger, on his property.

"Well, I've been driving around trying to find my brother." The man was beefy and appeared to be about 40, with longish brown hair and an unshaven jaw. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the road. He never stopped smiling as he spoke, which irritated Gibbs. "Had to leave my truck on the road. You know you have a problem with your gate? You should get it fixed."

"I like it that way," Gibbs replied, sounding curt and unwelcoming.

"Huh." The man continued smiling, as if Gibbs hadn't said anything. "Anyway, my brother, Tommy, he's got this…uh…condition and he has to take his meds. Just to calm him down. He can say some pretty wild things if he doesn't get his proper dose. Makes up stories. Thinks everyone's after him." The man laughed as if that were funny.

"He's not here," Gibbs said. A gust of wind drove the rain onto the porch, causing Gibbs to step back. He started to close the door when the sky lit up with one flash after another, followed by a series of loud thunderclaps.

The stranger cringed and moved closer to the house, huddling under the lee of the porch as the wind lashed the rain against him. "Man, I don't like lightning. Neither does my brother. He got scared by the storm, and he took off and–"

Gibbs cut in. "I didn't catch your name." He didn't know the names of all his neighbors by any means, but he'd never seem this guy before, and his story sounded like a load of crap.

"Oh…I'm Frank Beals. I'm on Westover Road." The man made a vague gesture to the west. "I'm going house-to-house, trying to find Tommy. It's real important I find him. Our mom's worried sick."

"I said I haven't seen your brother."

The man didn't let up. "He's six feet, dark hair, got a scruffy kinda beard. Might be a bit banged up," the man said, a bit sheepishly. "I tried to stop him from running, but he was so scared he was fighting me all the way. He got in a couple of good hits. See, near my eye."

Gibbs' eyes had adjusted to the porch light by that time, and he saw the stranger had a bruised cheek and the beginning of a shiner. His hair and the hat obscured some of his face, so Gibbs was unable to tell if that was the extent of the damage. On the man's right hand, the knuckles were raw and bruised – much like Tony's were. "You hit him?" Gibbs asked, his voice low with anger.

The man caught Gibbs looking at his damaged hand, so shoved it in his pocket. "I wouldn't hit my own brother."

"You should go to the police," Gibbs said, meaning to end the conversation. He could see that Beals didn't like his suggestion, which only confirmed Gibbs' gut feeling that this man was lying through his teeth. Gibbs believed he was hunting someone, but definitely not any brother.

He was about to close the door when the man said, "You've got a lot of places around here where a man could hide. I'll take a look in them and then I'll be on my way."

This would have been a good time to have his father's Winchester 1873 in his hands, but the Sig packed plenty of punch. Gibbs opened the door a little more and made a point of loosening the handgun in its holster. "No. You'll leave now. I'll check my own property."

No mistake, Beals saw the gun and heard the threat. His smile barely dimmed, though. "If you see him, I'd appreciate a call." He warned, "Don't you approach him; he's skittish, and frankly I'm not sure that he wouldn't hurt you…"

The man's voice trailed away and Gibbs realized the guy was staring at something low down in the mudroom, behind where Gibbs was standing. Although his instinct was to turn his head to see what Beals was looking at, Gibbs wasn't taking his eyes off this stranger.

For the first time since he'd come to the door, the man's smile faded, and all Gibbs saw was a blank stare. The man looked up at Gibbs again and his smile returned. "I'm going to keep on searching, maybe down the road a bit, but I'll come around later and check back with you. If you find Tommy, you hang onto him. And don't pay no attention to his crazy stories, okay?" Beals pulled a scrap of paper and a stub of a pencil out of his pocket and jotted down a phone number. He offered the paper to Gibbs, who ignored it.

Gibbs had learned a long time ago to trust his gut, and even though there was no evidence to back him up, he was sure that this man was involved in Tony's kidnapping. With no way of summoning help, and not knowing if Beals had accomplices, Gibbs' primary goal was to get the man off his property. Tony was in no condition to fight, and although Gibbs was willing and able to protect him, he didn't want to start something with Beals out here in the open. He'd get rid of the guy and then he'd plan their defense in case Beals returned.

Gibbs wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his gun and growled, "Get the hell off my property."

"Okay, okay!" Beals raised his hands defensively and backed slowly away. After a few feet, he did an about-face and headed up the drive towards his truck. It was only after the truck started up and drove away that Gibbs closed and locked the back door.

He turned and looked around to see what the stranger, had been staring at. There was nothing in the hall except two pairs of wet and muddy boots, his and Tony's, sitting to one side. Except they weren't really Tony's boots. Tony had said he'd pulled them off his kidnapper after he'd killed him. Beals had recognized the boots; they were his, which made him the man who had abducted Tony. Gibbs was now sure of it.

He wondered if he could jury-rig his truck, get her going well enough so they could make it to town, to the safety of the police station. If the truck conked out partway there, though, they'd be sitting ducks. No, his original idea was the best one; hunker down and stay on the defensive.

"What's going on?"

Gibbs looked around to find Tony standing at the end of the hall, his eyes heavy with sleep, his hair mussed up and standing on end. "Nothing," said Gibbs. "Just a neighbor, looking for his brother. You okay?"

Tony rubbed the back of his head and coughed a couple of times. "Yeah. Gotta take a leak."

"Here, take my flashlight." Gibbs handed it over, and then pointed in the direction of the bathroom. He went into the living room, he built the fire up before sitting on an upholstered chair. Leaning forward with his head in his hands, he thought, God, what a night, and who knew how long it would be before the phone was in order again.

Tony brushed by him and sat on the couch. Gibbs looked up and found the younger man was sitting sideways, one arm across the back of the couch, studying him intently.

"Mmm?" asked Gibbs.

"You could go to bed, you know."

Gibbs frowned at Tony.

"I mean, I don't need babysitting."

"I'm enjoying the fire," Gibbs replied. He had a strong desire for a bourbon, but it looked like that wasn't an option. He had to figure out their best defense. Maybe they could barricade themselves in one of the empty rooms upstairs, or even the attic, though it would be freezing up there and he didn't much like the idea of hiding among the mice.

"You do this often?"

"Do what?"

"Take care of wet cats who appear uninvited on your doorstep. Lounge around enjoying your fire with a gun strapped to your hip," Tony said, arching an eyebrow.

So he'd spotted the gun. Well, as Tony had said, once a cop, always a cop. "I heard something and went to investigate. Didn't know who was out there."

"You said he was a neighbor?"

"He said his name was Frank Beals."

"You know him?"

"I've never seen him before tonight." Gibbs could see that having a stranger at the door had made Tony nervous. "Did you…recognize him, Tony?"

Tony stared at him for a few seconds. "I was asleep. I heard you shout, 'Get the hell off my property.' I got up and by the time I got there, I guess he'd gone." Tony's eyes widened a bit. "If he was a neighbor, why were you so angry? What's going on, Jethro?"

"Nothing. He's gone," Gibbs promised. He didn't like lying to Tony, but he didn't want to spook him, either.

"Nothing?"

"So I don't like the guy," Gibbs said testily.

After a pause, Tony pointed out, "You weren't armed when you opened the door to me."

Gibbs gave a crooked smile. "My mistake."

That made Tony smile. "You could drive me to the police station, get rid of me."

"My truck's out of commission," Gibbs said, raising his hands in a helpless gesture. Even if it had been drivable, no way would he risk taking Tony out in this storm. There were probably tree limbs and electric wires down all over the place – and Frank Beals lying in wait around a blind corner.

"So I'm stuck here," Tony said, nodding. "Guess I'll have to make the best of a bad situation then."

"If you want to leave, you know where the door is," Gibbs retorted, smiling a little to assure Tony that he was kidding.

"True, but I don't even know where this is." Tony looked around, not put off by Gibbs' words. "Where am I, anyway?"

"Kelly Brook Farm. Near Bowie. Halfway between Baltimore and DC."

Tony digested that information and then said, "You know, that nap must have done me some good because all I can think of right now is how much I'd really like a strong cup of coffee and something to eat." When Gibbs made as if to rise, Tony stopped him and said, "No, let me do it this time."

When Gibbs laughed, Tony stopped. A second later he exclaimed, "Oh yeah, no power."

"It's okay. I can make coffee over the fire. Done it plenty of times."

"Cowboy?" asked Tony, one eyebrow raised speculatively.

"Marine," replied Gibbs. He lit another lantern for Tony, grabbed the coffee and a pan, and heated it up over the open fire while Tony was busy in the kitchen.

Tony returned a short while later with a tray laden with mugs, milk and sugar, as well as two boxes of Girl Scout cookies. "Mint or peanut butter?" Tony offered.

"Peanut butter." Gibbs moved over to the couch and poured their coffee while Tony opened the two boxes. Apparently he favored the mint cookies.

Tony sat sideways on the couch, so he could face Gibbs. "You know, you give off these tough guy vibes – and there's nothing wrong with that – but I get the feeling you're a soft touch, Jethro," Tony teased. "There were quite a few boxes of these cookies in the cupboard."

"Maybe I just like Girl Scout cookies," Gibbs replied gruffly, well aware that he had bought more cookies than he would ever eat because the two Girl Scouts who had come to the door, selling them, had reminded him of Kelly.

"Uh-huh." Tony sent Gibbs a look that said he wasn't fooled, and smiled as he reached for another cookie.

Gibbs brushed cookie crumbs off his chest and asked, "Where're you from?"

"That's not an easy question to answer," said Tony.

"You're obviously not homeless."

Tony smiled, shaking his head. "No. I was born and raised on Long Island, but I settled in Baltimore about sixteen years ago. Married my former piano teacher, Wendy DiGioia, who taught me about jazz and flirting when I was fourteen." At Gibbs' raised eyebrows, Tony raised a hand in defense. "I know, it sounds hinky, but Wendy is only four years older than me. She's living in our Roland Park home with Zack, our son. Good schools there. I, on the other hand, am residing in Baltimore, in a very drafty industrial loft a block from the river. Close to my constituents."

"You represent the 3rd district?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah. The district meanders across four counties, and includes Annapolis, and most of Baltimore."

"How did you go from being a detective to a politician?" Gibbs asked, genuinely curious.

Tony's smile faded. "I'd like to say my father pushed me into it, but I shouldn't blame him. I've never done anything I didn't want to do. Let's just say it was time for me to leave the Baltimore PD. At that point, dear old dad, aka Senator DiNozzo, convinced me it would be a good way for me to begin the process of jockeying up the political ladder. For some reason he still has high hopes. Not that he asked me if I wanted to run. Dad kept mentioning my name to the press and one day, voila, my face was on 'Vote for Tony Junior' posters plastered all over town." Tony shook his head and sighed. "I'm not so sure I can meet his, or anyone's expectations any more. Nobody believes when they get married that divorce is possible, even probable, or understands just how much it rips you apart when it inevitably occurs. Our plans to divorce was only made public a couple of weeks ago. Dad seems more upset about it than Wendy does, which tells you a lot." Suddenly Tony gave Gibbs a bright smile. "Enough about me. I want to know how you ended up here, a farmer."

During the next hour, Gibbs did something he'd rarely done before: he opened up and told the man who was sitting beside him – and listening to his every word – about his four marriages and three divorces. He recounted how he'd come to purchase this house and land, told him a little about the renovations, and about meeting Moira and how she'd influenced him in a positive way. He described to Tony how, instead of being put out to pasture, he'd started a new life managing this horse rescue, and how he was honoring his late wife and daughter's wishes by doing so. "My wife liked to say that sometimes the smallest choices have the biggest impact, so if I can do something good for these horses while they stay here, that's all that matters. They're amazing creatures," he said with a soft smile.

Tony, in turn, admitted he missed the detective work, and said that he'd been thinking about going back into the risk management field. "I started my own company about two years after I left the force. I'd been working for this huge company, Global Elite. I got great training, even went to FLETC for special courses. Global Elite provides all aspects of security for corporations – they're the ones who sent me to Italy to handle American executives at risk – but I wanted to start my own company. So I did about seven years ago, and I was just getting SafeZone off the ground when I decided to run for Congress. Unfortunately, when I won the seat, I had to sell the company. That was not an easy decision, but my wife, and my dad, convinced me it was the best road to take." As he spoke, Tony frowned, as if he was puzzling over his choice.

Tony continued, "One of my frat brothers bought SafeZone, and he keeps asking me to come back and work with him because he's gone global and can't keep up with the demand."

"You considering his offer?"

"I am. I've been elected for three terms in Congress so far, and I'm not sure how long my luck'll hold out before they see right through me. No, I know I've made a difference, and I'm proud of everything I've accomplished but…" Tony shrugged. "After the past five days…well, I've had a lot of time to think, and I'm not sure I like where I am. Now I just need to make a decision." He smiled, looking tired. "Not tonight though."

As Gibbs had listened to Tony talking, he'd enjoyed seeing the light in the younger man's eyes. This Tony before him was not the cool politician wearing the friendly face, nor the scared and wary kidnapping victim who had barely escaped with his life – this was someone else altogether, and Gibbs guessed that the man he was seeing right now was the true Tony, a man that few people ever saw.

The conversation petered out and the two men sat watching the dwindling fire until Gibbs said, "You take my bed, get some rest." Tony protested, but Gibbs pointed out that the power would probably be reinstated by the time he awoke, and all too soon, Tony was going to be up to his ears in Fibbies, not to mention family and friends welcoming him home.

Once Tony was safely tucked in bed, Gibbs checked out the status of the storm through the living room window. It was still windy and raining, though not as hard, and it seemed that finally the worst was over. He was just checking the locks on the doors – the big old house had about ten exit doors – when he heard a banging sound. At first Gibbs thought it was loose tiles on the roof, or a shutter on the rear of the house, but it grew louder as he walked into the mudroom. Peering out the back door, he discovered that the side door on the barn was open and swinging back and forth in the wind, banging every time it hit the siding.

"Damn!" Gibbs knew that he could have been careless about closing the barn door, but that wasn't likely. It had to be the work of his late-night visitor, Frank Beals. "Goddam it!" Hopefully he was alone, Gibbs thought, as he grabbed a spare clip of ammo. Damn, he couldn't go anywhere without telling Tony.

After pulling on his slicker and boots, Gibbs hurried into the bedroom and shook Tony's shoulder. Tony mumbled something unintelligible, but when Gibbs touched him again, he shot up into a sitting position, arms held out defensively. "What? What?"

"Tony, it's okay. I have to go out and secure the barn door. It's banging in the wind," Gibbs explained as calmly as he could.

"You can't go out there alone!"

"It's hardly even raining," Gibbs said, reluctant to tell Tony the truth about Beals.

"Haven't you ever watched any slasher movies?"

"No?"

Tony grabbed Gibbs' shirt and declared, "You know the rules: 'Stay in well lit areas, never travel alone, and always wipe front to back.'"

Gibbs took hold of Tony's shoulders and looked him in the eye. "Are you _sure_ you're a congressman?"

"For God's sake, Jethro, it's from _Scary Movie_. Look, you can't go out there alone. I'm coming with you." Tony slipped off the bed and started looking around for his borrowed shoes, but Gibbs stopped him.

"No, you're staying here. I'll be back in ten minutes. I have to check on the horses and close the door, that's all. There are no slashers in the barn." He pointed to his gun in an attempt to allay Tony's fears. "I'm armed, okay? Nobody's going to mess with me."

"What about me? You got a spare weapon?"

Gibbs was aware that although Tony had been joking around by quoting silly movies, the attempt at humor was covering up some serious issues with fear. "Lock the doors behind me."

"This isn't just about a barn door, is it?" Tony asked, hugging his arms around his body. "Oh God, that guy who came here…he wasn't really a neighbor, was he? I knew he wasn't going to stay dead! I should've buried h-him and–" Tony started coughing, and it took a good minute before he was able to suppress any more coughs. "Shit," he whispered, breathing heavily.

Gibbs touched Tony's cheek with the back of his hand. He felt a little warm, but that could be because he just awoke. Still, Gibbs looked at Tony with concern. "You okay?"

Nodding, Tony said in a rough voice, "You got any cough syrup?"

"In the bathroom." Gibbs clasped Tony's neck and said urgently, "Tony, are you listening to me?"

Tony nodded, looking miserable. "It was him, isn't it?"

"I think it was, Tony. Look, you're safest in here. You lock the doors, and I'll keep an eye on the house the whole time I'm out there."

"But Jethro…"

Picturing the horses growing frantic in their stalls, and Beals being out there, up to no good, Gibbs barked, "Tony! I have to go. The sooner I go, the sooner I'll be back."

Tony's expression clearly showed he was warring with himself, but he calmed down enough to say, "Okay, but hurry back."

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks** everyone, for all the nice comments. This is the final chapter but I plan to write another story in this world. Meanwhile, I encourage all readers to check out the other stories written for the NCIS ficathon.

 **CHAPTER 6**

Gibbs quickly donned his raincoat and a waterproof hat. His boots were covered in dried mud and straw, and would be hell to clean by the time he finally got to them, but he pulled them on and was out the door before he had second thoughts about leaving Tony behind. Gibbs heard the lock click behind him and he turned to see Tony, safe inside, giving a small wave goodbye.

It was cold and wet, but the wind was fresh, and in a couple of hours the sun would rise upon a day that the weatherman had promised would be bright and warm after the storm. Gibbs kept an eye out for anything amiss as he walked to the barn. The ground was sodden and there were huge puddles everywhere. His feet sank inches deep in the mud, but the indentations quickly filled with water and the rain soon washed his footprints away. Even if Frank Beals had had the nerve to trespass, and fool around with the barn door, there would be no evidence of his being there.

Before going into the barn, Gibbs looked back at the house. The only light was coming from the porch; the rest of the house was in darkness.

Inside the barn was even darker than the rainy night, so Gibbs pulled out his flashlight. Several sets of eyes watched his progress as he slowly made his way down the aisle between the stalls. The horses were surprisingly quiet, considering how skittish some of them were. They nickered and blew out their nostrils in greeting, and Gibbs made a point to gently stroke their velvety soft noses as he had a look around. The barn was big, and someone could be hiding up in the loft, but Gibbs had a sense that he was the only two-footed creature in the barn at that moment. He checked the latches on all the stalls and said, "Night, boys and girls," as he went out and shut the door securely behind him.

The catch on the large door was in perfect working order, so Gibbs surmised that the storm's strong winds could have made the old boards shift and bend just enough to cause the door to pop open. It could have happened that way, but he didn't quite believe that it had.

He shook his head and made his way back to the house. After scraping some of the mud off his boots on the old iron boot-scraper beside the back door, Gibbs rapped his knuckles on the locked door and called, "Tony, I'm back!" There was no reply and no sound of movement within the house. Without thinking, Gibbs tried the doorknob. It turned easily and the door swung open.

Gibbs was about to remove his muddy boots when he looked down at the tray where he usually placed them. The boots that Tony had worn when he'd arrived, the boots that had belonged to the kidnapper, the ones that Tony had stripped off the dead man's feet – were gone.

His heart doing double-time, Gibbs tore off his coat and hat and tossed them aside. He pulled his gun and flicked the safety off, then slowly eased along the hall to the kitchen, keeping his weapon at eye level as he cleared each room. He was about to enter the living room when he heard the noise, a strangled sound, and he flattened himself against the wall near the open doorway.

Gibbs called out, "Tony? You okay?"

There was some shuffling, then Gibbs heard a struggle and a sharp cry immediately followed by a blow and a grunt. Enough was enough, he thought, and he called out, "I'm coming in, Beals." Raising his gun, Gibbs slowly moved into the living room.

Beals, who was wearing the boots Tony had taken off him earlier, was standing behind Tony, one arm around his neck, the other pressing a knife against his side. Both of Tony's hands were grasping Beals' arm, trying to get him to ease his stranglehold, to no avail. Tony turned to his eyes Gibbs and emitted small sounds of panic.

"Let him go," Gibbs ordered, keeping his gun aimed at the man who had kidnapped Tony.

"You cannot tell me what to do, you fucker!" Beals spat. His arm tightened around Tony's neck and Tony's eyelids flickered. Gibbs could see that he was close to losing consciousness. Beals kept moving; no way could he get a clear shot. The risk was too great.

"You're choking him," Gibbs said.

"Good! This fag thinks he can get away with what he did to me? Nobody ever hits me! He's got another thing coming!" Beals continued to spew angrily, all the time taking steps backwards and forcing Tony along with him. "You come any closer and I'll kill him, cut him into little pieces," Beals threatened. He pushed the knife harder against Tony's side, making Tony cry out.

Gibbs realized that Beals was heading for the door on the far side of the living room. It led to the front hall, but if Beals thought he could escape out that way, he was mistaken. The floorboards of the front porch were rotted through and unsafe, and it wouldn't take much weight for them to go crashing through.

Beals was going on about divorce and honest workers losing jobs, and how local government was getting out of control and subverting people's rights, and "if you freaks think we're gonna sit still while you ass-fuck our country down the drain, you got another thing coming!"

Gibbs raised his voice to counter the tirade. "Let Tony go, Beals. You can't make it out of here with him."

"Oh no, I'm not letting this fuck go. He's mine! They take me seriously now that I've got their fancy politician. Now they're ready to bargain with me! Now they can't treat me like some piece of dirt! You people don't…don't get it…" Beals' eyes were wild and he seemed confused about what he was doing, but he never let up the pressure on Tony's neck. Beals kept talking, about his mother and his family and how everyone had always been against him, but to Gibbs, it was just background noise.

Beals might intend to use Tony as a bargaining chip for whatever his agenda might be, but he'd already made it clear when he'd held Tony in the trailer that he was going to kill him. Now Beals had shown his face, he'd surely be more desperate than ever, and would have no compunction about killing anyone who got in his way.

Instead of wasting his breath reasoning with the man, Gibbs kept his eyes on Tony, trying to convey that he needed to remain calm, that he'd take the guy out and then Tony would be safe. Tony blinked at Gibbs, a small sign of trust. Gibbs hoped to hell he could live up to it.

Beals backed up into the unlit hallway. He forced Tony to open the front door, never easing the chokehold he had on him. The front door swung open in the wind and rain blew in. For a moment his hold on Tony's neck must have lessened; Tony started to struggle anew and elbowed Beals, but the man tightened his grip.

Gibbs followed them, gun at the ready, waiting for the right moment to take Beals out. He watched anxiously as Tony was dragged onto the unstable porch, knowing the danger there. Once more Gibbs called out, "Release him now, Beals," but the kidnapper ignored him and quickly moved onto the rickety porch.

Beals and Tony only made it a few steps when, under the combined weight, the rotten boards gave way. Beals fell into a gaping hole with a scream, and as the old wood gave way, Gibbs leaped forward and grabbed Tony's arm. He hauled Tony back into the house and they tumbled into the hall, falling in an ungainly heap. Gibbs didn't want to let go of Tony, but he was gasping for air, so he scrambled to his feet and pulled Tony with him.

Gibbs looked back at Beals, who was chest-deep in a jagged hole; he was pinned by broken boards and screaming his head off. He'd probably broken a leg, from the sound it. It was unlikely that Tony's kidnapper could extricate himself from the collapsed porch, and Gibbs was tempted to leave the guy for the time being. The last thing he wanted to do was rescue the man, but there was a windowless storeroom in the basement with a sturdy door; he'd feel better if the man was under lock and key until the authorities arrived.

Gibbs was worried because Tony was doubled up, coughing badly, his eyes watering and his breathing ragged. "C'mon," Gibbs urged, trying once again to get him to the safety of the living room where he could sit down, but Tony made it clear that he didn't want to go.

After holstering his gun, Gibbs slid his arm around Tony's waist, but Tony frantically shook his head. He kept trying to say something, and after a couple of attempts he managed to gasp, "He's…got…gun!"

Gibbs instinctively shoved Tony behind him as he drew his gun and aimed it in Beals' direction. Beals, still stuck in the grip of the broken boards, was struggling, not to get free but to pull a concealed gun from his coat. "Don't!" shouted Gibbs.

Beals raised his revolver and shot in Gibbs' and Tony's direction. Tony hauled Gibbs out of the line of fire, and they both scrambled into the living room as bullets flew around them, hitting the walls and ceiling. The hundred year-old glass lamp hanging high in the hall shattered and glass exploded everywhere. Gibbs shielded Tony with his own body, but a second later, Gibbs turned and fired, emptying the clip into Beals' body.

When the smoke cleared, Beals was dead.

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

The weatherman was right. Once the sun rose it promised to be a beautiful day. At 0600 the power came back on and an hour later the phone lines came back online as well.

Gibbs sat on his couch, so close to Tony their shoulders touched. They pretty much hadn't moved for the past couple of hours, except to make a huge pot of coffee for Gibbs, and tea with honey for Tony to sip on. Tony gave a contented sigh and leaned a little more into Gibbs, and in response, Gibbs shifted a little to accommodate Tony's weight.

"You ready for the massing hordes?" asked Gibbs. "FBI, TV crews, hell, you'll probably get a call from the President."

Reluctantly, Tony nodded and handed Gibbs the phone.

Gibbs held it in his hand, but didn't make any attempt to dial it.

"What's the matter?" Tony asked, eyeing Gibbs.

"Just thinking."

"About what?"

Gibbs looked at the phone for a bit, and then shrugged. "I liked having you here," he admitted.

Tony chuckled and coughed a couple of times. "And I liked being here," he whispered. "I mean, apart from the obvious reasons, like the way you took me in, patched me up, and saved me from a crazy kidnapper."

Gibbs couldn't hide his smile. "Yeah, apart from all that." There was nothing more to say, and although he hated doing it, he pressed the appropriate buttons on the phone. When it was picked up at the other end, he said, "Fornell? I've think I've got someone here you've been looking for. Yeah, Tony DiNozzo. He just turned up on my doorstep last night, looking like a drowned rat." Tony poked his ribs. "Ow! Yes, Tobias, he really _is_ the congressman. What's he look like?" Gibbs leaned back a little and frowned at Tony. "Fancy haircut, green eyes, good looking, and he knows it. My height…plus an inch. Is he hurt? Uh…"

Tony shook his head vehemently, but Gibbs just scowled at him. "He's got bruises, contusions on his torso, neck, head…Yeah, I guess he could use a doctor." Gibbs chuckled. "He's quite scrappy, I've been told. Hey, don't scare the horses when you come; no sirens and stay outside the gate. Oh, and one more thing? Do you know some jerkoff who goes by the name Frank Beals?" He listened for a bit and spoke aloud for Tony's sake. "His mother's Marian Tozier? Who's she? She's running for governor? Uh huh, a nut job. Apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?" Gibbs could see Tony's eyes light up with an ahah moment.

"How do I know Beals? Well, he's sitting out on my front porch. No, he can't get away, Tobias. Because I say so." Gibbs pulled a face and sighed. "All right, it's because he's full of holes, that's why. No, I'm not going anywhere." Gibbs disconnected and tossed the phone onto the coffee table.

Tony tugged at Gibbs' arm for attention and once Gibbs leaned close, Tony whispered, "I'm not going anywhere either."

Gibbs smiled slowly. "Hell, I knew that."

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

Gibbs leaned against the doorway of his living room, holding an ice pack to his shoulder. He'd done some damage to it when pulling Tony out of Beals' grip, but a bit of pain was a small price to pay for Tony's safety.

Standing out of the way, Gibbs watched Congressman DiNozzo's chief of staff, and a woman named Lydia who had been identified as his press secretary, trying to convince Tony to make a statement to the press before he went to the hospital. Due to Tony's damaged throat and his inability to speak any louder than a whisper, he was making his opinions known by gestures. Gibbs translated the hand movements to mean Tony was fine and did not want to go to any damn hospital.

In addition to Tony's staff members, Senator DiNozzo, Tony's father, and three paramedics were crowding Tony, who was sitting on the couch. DiNozzo Sr. was even more of an asshole in person than on TV, if that was possible. He was on the phone, trying to arrange an emergency airlift to transport his son to Bethesda, and was demanding a top ENT surgeon to be at the ready.

Apparently, Tony's soon-to-be-ex-wife, Wendy, had chosen not to join the media circus, according to DiNozzo Sr., who Gibbs had seen earlier preening before the cameras. Tony said something in a barely-there voice about Danny DeVito and ruthless people that had one of the EMTs laughing. It took a minute before Gibbs realized it was a movie reference.

The paramedics had immediately treated Tony for his worsening cough and shortness of breath, using some kind of nebulizer, and it had diminished greatly. They were concerned about the bruising to his throat, and found he had an elevated temperature, and were trying to transfer him onto a waiting gurney for the trip to the local emergency department. Tony, apparently, did not want to go.

Fornell stood next to Gibbs, keeping an eye on Tony, too. "His father tried bargaining with the kidnapper. Not an unacceptable practice, but it was like he was shopping in a bargain basement," he said with disgust.

"Did he pay the ransom?"

Fornell shook his head. "The congressman's staff had instructions in case of kidnapping: recover the victim, and worry about the money later. Besides, he carries kidnapping insurance," he said with a slight smile.

Gibbs looked sideways at Fornell. "This wasn't only about money."

"Oh, no. Turns out the congressman here won the last three elections against Beals' older brother, Robert. Or half-brother, I should say. DiNozzo is likely to win again if he tries for a fourth term, but he is friends with Robert, who's his main opponent. Sources told us that Beals went off the deep end when he found out DiNozzo was spending time with his brother, speaking out and supporting gay rights alongside him. They were coordinating a movement to outlaw conversion therapy at a federal level."

Gibbs frowned at the implication and asked, "This half-brother has a different last name?"

"Tozier."

"Like the mother? You said she's running for Governor?"

"That's the one. She's been a strong advocate for conversion therapy for youths to change sexual orientation – and we're not talking about prayer and counseling here. She runs a youth counseling service and her weekly YouTube program has a huge following. Apparently her son, Robert Tozier, won't have anything to do with her; he's the only sane one in the family."

"And Tony's friendship with Robert pushed Frank Beals over the edge?"

Fornell shrugged. "Congressman DiNozzo is a very popular man, and a lot of people listen to him."

Gibbs caught a glimpse of Tony between the people crowding around him, and he took in the stubborn expression on Tony's face. It was time he did something about the situation. With a sigh, he pushed himself off the wall but he hadn't taken two steps before Fornell took hold of his arm.

"You sure you know what you're getting into, Jethro?" Fornell asked with a smirk.

Gibbs snorted. "If you're trying to warn me off, Tobias, you're too late."

Fornell raised an eyebrow. "It's like that, is it?"

Impatiently, Gibbs brushed him off. "It isn't like anything. I'm just gonna watch his back."

"You mean someone called in the Marines?"

"Semper fi, Tobias," Gibbs said. He handed Fornell the melting ice pack and pushed his way through the people hovering around Tony.

The moment Tony laid eyes on Gibbs, he held out a hand and said in hoarse voice, "Get me out of here."

It took a combination of stern glares and physically moving bodies to get the people to move back. Fornell guided Senator DiNozzo outside, citing better cell reception. Tony's two staff members obeyed his instructions to sit in the kitchen to write a short statement – he just pointed and Gibbs said, "Get out." – which left the three medics. Gibbs ascertained that Tony wasn't in any immediate danger, and convinced them that the gurney wasn't necessary. "He can walk out, and get into the ambulance on his own," Gibbs said.

Tony grabbed Gibbs' sleeve and said, "Nooo," in a raspy voice. He sent Gibbs a look that spoke volumes, saying quite clearly he'd been betrayed.

"Look, I've got to go to the ER anyway," Gibbs said with an unconcerned shrug.

Tony looked him up and down and asked, "You hurt?"

Gibbs turned, just enough so Tony could see his back. He'd felt the warm trickle of blood on his back some time ago, ever since Beals had shot out the light in the front hall, and there was a sharp pain jabbing him somewhere below his shoulder blade. Tony struggled to his feet, and Gibbs turned back just in time to grab him.

Tony looked just as pale as when he'd first turned up on Gibbs' doorstep, about 12 hours ago, but he refused to be seated. "You're not going alone," said Tony. He reached for the zippered sweatshirt with MARINES emblazoned across the chest, looking a little sheepish when Gibbs helped him put it on. "It's okay?" asked Tony, searching Gibbs' face for approval.

"Looks good on you. Let's get this show on the road," Gibbs said, not looking to deeply for the reason why he liked seeing Tony wearing his clothes. He indicated Tony's staff emerging from the kitchen, carrying a piece of paper. "Looks like your people have written up something for you to say. You sure you're up for this?"

Tony read over the short statement, nodded, and said in as a loud a whisper as he could manage, "I am if you read it for me, Jethro."

"Me? Oh no! No way."

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

The front porch was taped off as a crime scene and the ME was just removing the body, so when Gibbs gave in and agreed to read the prepared statement, he stood beside a bruised and battered Tony on the back porch of Kelly Brook Farm, and spoke to a sizable crowd of journalists and TV cameras. The news people jostled each other for a good spot, and many of them ended up standing in the large, muddy puddles that covered the front yard and driveway.

As far as off-the-cuff speeches went, it wasn't bad. Gibbs read aloud in a strong, clear voice, that Congressman DiNozzo wanted to thank all the law enforcement agencies who had tirelessly searched for him. It went on for a bit and winded up saying that the congressman appreciated the support of his family and everyone who had shown such deep concern and faith, but most of all, he…"

At that point, Gibbs hesitated, and Tony took hold of a microphone someone offered him. Speaking in a low, husky voice, Tony said to a suddenly hushed assembly, "I am well aware that the only reason I am here speaking…well, whispering to you, is because this man, a US Marine, former NCIS Special Agent, and the owner of this fine horse rescue, took a chance and opened his door to me on a dark and stormy night. I'd quote a line from _Scary Movie_ at this point, but I have to wind this up before my voice gives out on me."

The audience, even the most cynical of reporters, laughed and applauded, and Tony coughed and waved away the barrage of questions they shouted at him and Gibbs. The paramedics took the opportunity to sweep in and guided both Tony and Jethro to the waiting ambulance.

It wasn't until they were on the way to the hospital, and the medic had finished fussing with Tony's IV and oxygen, that Tony turned his head to look into Gibbs' eyes. He said something but Gibbs didn't catch it; the oxygen mask covering the lower part of Tony's face made it hard to hear what he was saying. Seated on the other gurney, Gibbs leaned forward.

His voice muffled, Tony said, "I never got to meet your horses."

Gibbs smiled and stroked Tony's hair back from his forehead. "You can come and visit any time."

"I can?" Tony's eyes shone with pleasure.

"Sure. I'd like that."

Tony smiled tiredly. "Me, too. Thanks for…"

"For what?"

"For letting the wet cat in," Tony said.

"Apparently I collect strays," Gibbs said.

Tony seemed amused. "Is that what I am?"

"No…no, not any more. You're always welcome in my home, Tony," Gibbs said, truly meaning it. Tony smiled and fell asleep, and as they headed for the hospital, it struck Gibbs that Abby and Palmer, and the guy from the service station with the replacement part for his truck, would all be arriving at the farm right about now. Abby was going to be out of her mind with worry. No matter, someone would tell them what had gone on last night, and after Abby freaked out, she'd call McGee and Ducky, and the others, and they'd all converge on the hospital. He'd get a big hug and a lecture from Abby, and then he'd introduce them to Tony.

Gibbs was well aware that he never would have met Tony if he hadn't taken a chance and bought Kelly Brook Farm. The quote that Shannon liked came to mind, the one about how sometimes the smallest choices have the biggest impact. Opening the door and meeting Tony was just the beginning; Tony was going to be a major part in his life from now on – of that, Gibbs was certain. And although he wasn't the kind of man to be sentimental, Gibbs took a moment to close his eyes and whisper, "You were right, Shannon. You were so right."

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~ the end ~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~


End file.
